Memories Gather Round Her
by wideopeneyes
Summary: Gippal loses his memory, courtesy of a hard knock to the head. Now he's struggling to rediscover himself, with Rikku's none-too-willing assistance.
1. Chapter 1

A hand slapped his cheek, jarring him into alertness. He tried to inhale, but choked on the water that clogged his lungs. It gushed out with a wet, retching sound. A few desperate, ragged breaths later and he figured was ready to open his eyes.

Or…_eye_. Something covered the right one. He lifted his fingers, tracing the outline of the eye patch with a sort of detached curiosity.

"Gippal! _Gippal_?" Two hands gripped his shoulders, shaking him. The hysterical female voice had him opening his eye. For a moment all he could see was blue, the vast brilliant sheen of the sky and the brightness of the sun beating down. Then his eye adjusted, and a shadowy figure came into view, staring down at him worriedly, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

_An angel_? No, she was too rumpled-looking. And besides, he didn't think angels would likely have dirt smudged on their cheeks. Several people stood around, murmuring to each other, watching the woman try to revive him.

"_Say _something," she urged, shaking him. "Are you okay?"

"Uh…" he shook his head to clear it. "I think so. Who are you, exactly?"

The murmuring stopped. Had he said something wrong? He glanced around, wondering why everyone was staring at him.

The blonde young woman frowned. "What's your name?" She asked, suspiciously.

"Uh…" he hesitated, thinking. What had she called him before? "Gip…pal?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Do you actually remember that?"

He flushed guiltily. "I heard you say it earlier."

"What _do _you remember?" She asked.

He thought – or tried to. As he concentrated on remembering, his mind got fuzzier, more confused. His head ached. His stomach clenched uncomfortably until he wondered if he was going to retch again.

Her small, warm fingers groped through the hair at the back of his head until he hissed with pain. She dragged them away, noting the blood that coated her fingers.

"A head wound," she concluded. "You took a pretty bad hit to the back of the head," she told him. "In all fairness, it was your own damn fault. You know better than to be wearing boots like that on deck." She motioned to the huge, black ship that was docked near them. "You slipped, hit your head, and rolled right off the deck. You're just lucky we were so close to shore and that I'm a decent swimmer." She climbed to her feet, wiping her bloody fingers on her shorts, and offering him her hand. "Come on," she said, expression inscrutable. "I'll take you to Doc. He'll be able to figure out what's wrong with you and how to fix it."

Gippal looked her over appraisingly. She talked like they'd known each other a while, but her face was totally unfamiliar. She was pretty, though. He wondered if they'd ever been involved. Just as quickly, he dismissed the idea. Surely she could do better than a guy with an eye patch. He took the hand she offered, letting her assist him to his feet. Though his head spun dizzily, he managed to keep his feet, somewhat surprised to find himself a whole head taller than she. He hadn't quite expected it; she had such a commanding presence he'd somehow expected to find himself dwarfed by her.

"Let's go." She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "Home's this way."

"Home?"

"New Home," she corrected. "It's where we live."

"We live together?" He couldn't keep his surprise off his face.

She glanced at him curiously, then laughed at his expression. "Not you and me," she said. "I meant the Al Bhed. We all live there. It's our Home."

"Oh." His brow furrowed in confusion. "What's an Al Bhed?"

She sighed.

---

"You sure did a number on yourself, son." Doc swabbed the wound with antiseptic of some sort, which stung painfully but stemmed the bleeding. "You're lucky Rikku was there to pull your ass out, or you'd be fish food right about now."

"So, what's the verdict?" The girl called Rikku paced impatiently. "Is it permanent?"

Doc shook his head and shrugged. "You never can tell with this kind of thing," he said. "Sometimes they remember right quick. But I heard tell of a few that never remembered." He sighed. "Best I can tell you is to keep watch of him. Don't try and force him to remember anything. Give it a little bit of time."

She snorted. "_Time_. Right. Like Djose'll just wait for him to come to his senses."

"Tell 'em the situation," Doc said. "They're good men out there. They'll have their orders. Nhadala'll take over for a while."

"What's Djose?" Gippal interrupted, a little perturbed by the conversation that was clearly over his head. He figured he'd be the sort of guy to take charge of his own destiny, and he didn't really appreciate them talking about him like he wasn't there.

"Djose's a temple," Rikku said dismissively, turning back to Doc. "So, what do we do with him?"

Doc chuckled. "Whatever you wanna do, kiddo. I got my work cut out for me here. Besides," he noted, "he's _your _boyfriend."

"Ex." Rikku clarified tightly. "_Ex_-boyfriend."

---

"So…" Gippal shoved his hands in his pockets, trailing along after Rikku as she forged a path through the village. "Where are we headed?"

"Since I've got babysitting duty, I'm taking you back to my place," she answered. Clearly she was not pleased with being assigned his keeper.

"I don't have a place?"

"No," she replied. "You live in Djose."

"In a temple? Am I a priest or something?" Had _that _been the cause of their split? Gods help him, he couldn't imagine being a priest. With the current bent of his thoughts where she was concerned, he didn't think he had it in him to be celibate.

She laughed. "No, you're not a priest."

"What am I, then?" He jogged a little, tired of lagging behind her. He wondered how she managed to get so far ahead of him so quickly, especially when he _clearly _had longer legs. Was she intentionally trying to lose him, or something?

She slanted him a sideways glance. "I don't think I ought to be telling you all this stuff. Shouldn't you be trying to remember on your own?"

"I don't know. Never had a head injury before." He paused, with a self-deprecating laugh. "That I remember, anyway," he amended, touching his eye patch. "We were really _involved_?"

"For a while," she said.

"What happened?"

"We outgrew each other." She crossed her arms, closing herself off. "I don't really want to talk about it, if you don't mind."

"So, if I'm so distasteful to you, why are you taking me to your place?" He asked.

She stopped dead for a moment, looking him over carefully. "For all intents and purposes, right now you're not Gippal. You're just a stranger with his face. You don't have anywhere else to go, and we're all family, we Al Bhed." She started walking again, a brisk pace he had trouble matching. "Maybe I feel a sort of responsibility for you. We grew up together. We were friends for a long time."

"So…we're not friends anymore?" Somehow that thought made him almost sad – like he somehow subconsciously understood that she had been the only person to ever really understand him, and the loss of her friendship wounded him even though he couldn't currently remember it.

"Not really. We're more like acquaintances." She didn't elaborate. Veering off the main road, she approached a small house, not unlike the others on the little off-shoot lane. It seemed to be unfitted with a lock of any sort, because she simply turned the knob and pushed the door open.

"No locks? Isn't that a little…unsafe?"

She gave him a censorious look. "We're family, here. We don't steal from each other. Just Yevonites who deserve a little divine retribution." She motioned him inside. "Besides, no one would steal from me anyway. I'm Cid's daughter."

"Who's Cid?"

"The leader of the Al Bhed." She blew back a lock of hair that had fallen into her eyes, crossing into the small kitchen to retrieve a couple of glasses from a cupboard, then poured some water into them, handing one over to him.

"So that makes you what? A princess?" He eyed her skeptically. She didn't exactly fit his idea of any princess; not with that revealing outfit.

She shrugged, beads clacking together as a cluster of her golden braids rolled off her shoulders. "More or less. Probably less, considering the current state of my _empire_. My idiot brother'll take over one day, though, unless Pops gets his shit together and realizes that Brother is totally unfit to leadership."

"You have a brother…named _Brother_?" He cocked an eyebrow, half-hoping he'd misunderstood.

"Yeah. Pops wanted a bunch of kids. It was his not-so-subtle way of letting Mama know she'd better get ready for more." She gulped a fair amount of her water. "She died when I was three. Rogue machina."

He winced. "Ouch. I'm sorry."

Her eyebrows shot up. "You remember machina?" She asked, surprised.

"I guess so," he said, a little surprised himself. "Is that good?" It didn't seem like something he'd just forget, like walking or breathing or speaking.

"You didn't remember Djose and you _live _there, so I'd say so." She sat back heavily in a chair, no longer so worried about the possibility of babysitting him indefinitely. He'd remember. Sooner or later, he'd remember and get out of her hair.

"So, let's get a few ground rules out of the way, shall we?" She rested her elbows on her knees, cradling her face in her hands. "No snooping in my room. No inviting girls over for some hanky-panky. No singing in the shower at ungodly hours of the morning."

"I sing in the shower?" He asked, taken aback.

"Badly," she responded, nodding. "At ungodly hours of the morning, as mentioned. _Please _spare my neighbors. _And _me."

"Uh, okay. I don't think any of that should be a problem."

"Great! Now why don't you get out of here for a little while and explore while I set up the guest bedroom." She urged him towards the door.

"Guest bedroom?" He said skeptically. The tiny house didn't look like it was big enough to contain even _one _bedroom, much less a _guest _bedroom.

"Yep. Or, as I fondly call it, the _couch_. Now, get. I'll come find you in an hour or so."

He dug in his heels, reluctant to be tossed out into an unfamiliar world. "Wait! What if I get lost?"

She snorted indelicately. "You won't get lost; everyone here knows you. If I can't find you immediately, I'll just ask people where they last saw you. Or, inversely, you could ask people where to find me. Go rediscover your roots. Who knows? Maybe you'll remember something!"

And with that, the door snapped shut in his face. He briefly considered pounding on the door until she relented and let him in, but figured Rikku probably wasn't the kind to be easily intimidated.

So he affected his most confident air (or what he assumed was his most confident air – since he knew relatively little about himself, he couldn't exactly be sure), and headed off resolutely towards the east. He passed a cluster of women who eyed him somewhat hungrily, leading him to believe that, regardless of the eye patch, he was probably somewhat good-looking. Another small group of men approached, greeting him by name.

"Gippal! Finally, _someone _who'llknow what to do with that box of parts! I sent 'em down to Ynel in the workshop. You might want to head down there before they close up for the night, see what's in 'em."

"Oh. Uh…thanks. I'll get right on that." He paused briefly. "Which way's the workshop, again?"

That earned him a curious stare from all three men. "You're here twice a week. You hit your head or something?"

He smiled wryly, touching the raw, aching spot at the back of his head. "Something like that, actually. Don't remember much of anything right now."

"Sorry," one of the men said, looking abashed.

"Workshop's that way," another said, pointing down the dusty road. "About half a mile, on your left. Can't miss it."

"Good luck," said the third.

Gippal thanked them somewhat awkwardly – obviously they knew him, but he didn't recognize their faces, much less actually know their names – and headed in the direction they'd indicated.

It was a busy sort of village. Though he didn't see a market of any sort that would normally gather crowds the likes of which he saw on the streets, it seemed that everyone had somewhere to go, since they rushed around frantically.

A large, stone building loomed ahead – there was something oddly reminiscent of the structure that Gippal couldn't place. But he approached at a leisurely pace, half-hoping Rikku would come fetch him before he could get to it and give him a legitimate excuse not to go. But she didn't, and the entryway was just there, and so he went in before he could talk himself out of it.

There were only two people in the large room, and both of them were packing it up for the day.

"Ah, Gippal. We're done here, but there's a couple of boxes for you over there," a woman said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder. "Have at it; consider the workshop yours for the night."

They were off before Gippal could manage anything other than a cursory greeting, but he wasn't too upset – it was damned awkward socializing with people you couldn't remember.

The light was fading, but a couple of switches near the entrance filled the room with light. And he couldn't help being a little curious about what was in those boxes, since by all accounts he was the only one who would be able to do anything with them. He stripped away the tape binding the boxes, and lifted the lid. At first he didn't know what he was looking at, so he dumped the box out onto the table, sorting the parts by size and apparent function. At a loss as to what to do with such an assortment of things, he resolved to pack it all up and see if he couldn't find himself something to eat. He reached for the tools laid out of the table first. His fingers closed over the socket wrench and he stilled for a moment. Surprised, he lifted the object off the table, relishing the _familiar _weight of the object in his hand.

It felt comfortable and stable – the only stable thing in an unstable, unfamiliar world. It felt like it was a part of him, like a long-lost friend.

He didn't stop to think about what it meant. He just grabbed the remaining boxes, dumped the parts on the table, and started looting through the jumbled mess, looking for things to use.

---

A little over an hour later, that was where Rikku found him, an assortment of tools scattered all around, parts littering the floor, hunched over the table, shirtless. Even in the early evening, the heat was still stifling, which was likely why he'd removed it. Sweat shimmered on his skin, and she watched the muscles in his back work as he tightened bolts.

Anyone else might've scolded him for his untidy workspace, for his complete disorganization and his blatant flouting of the workplace safety all the rest of the Al Bhed so carefully employed, but Rikku know that was how Gippal worked best. He forgot everything but the task at hand, so completely absorbed in his work that he didn't notice her despite the noise she'd made entering the closed workshop until she was right beside him.

"Oh." He swiped his palm across his forehead, wiping away sweat. "Hey."

"Hey," she returned. "You're building."

"Yeah." He looked down at the machine he'd been assembling. "This is what I do, isn't it? It feels…right."

"Mmhmm." She ran her fingers through her hair, examining what he'd been building. "You're a mechanic. You work in Djose. So, what's it do?"

"I have no idea." He looked a little confused. "My hands tell me _this _goes _here _and _that _goes _there_, but I don't really know what it is I'm building."

"You'll figure it out eventually," she said, oddly sympathetic to the note of worry in his voice. "Come on. It's about time for dinner."

---

"Sorry I wasn't more help," he said sheepishly, as she set a plate before him. "I, um, don't remember how to cook."

She snorted, giving him a vaguely amused look as she took a seat at the small kitchen table. "You never knew how to cook in the first place," she said. "Your talents lie in machinery…and far, far away from all things culinary. You're not too handy with the housework, either. You employ a fulltime cook and maid."

"Really? Huh," he said, thoughtfully. "I must be loaded."

"Pretty much."

She said it nonchalantly, but he arched an eyebrow. "Jealous?"

She shook her head, lips twisting in a wry smile. "I'm even more loaded than you are."

"And you…live in a tiny, one-bedroom house in the middle of the desert," he said, disbelievingly.

"Don't knock it when you're taking advantage of it," she chastised. "Besides, I've got better things to spend my money on. I don't need a ton of space."

"Like what?" He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head.

"I have an airship. It's small, but it's just for me. And I'm helping fix up Bikanel. After it was destroyed the last time, a lot of Al Bhed…lost hope. Now that Sin's gone, and Yevon's been totally re-worked, it's getting easier for them to dream again, but I think they're still a little afraid to. That's why my idiot brother shouldn't be in charge. He'll go along for the ride, but he's not interested in changing anything himself." She took a deep breath. "I've gone up against the world before. I can do it again. I _will _do it again, if I need to. I've helped rebuild this place with my own hands and my own funds. It's _not_ going to be destroyed again."

The fierce intensity in her voice was inspiring. Somehow he'd allowed himself to think that she was as fragile as she looked. But if half of what she'd said was true, he had no doubt that she had the guts to do anything she set her mind to.

"I hate to ruin a perfectly good speech," he said, "but…what's Sin?"

For a moment she stared at him blankly. Then she stood, patted the top of his head, and started removing dishes to the sink in the kitchen. "Never mind," she said, "it's not all that important anymore."

"I really want to know," he said as she loaded dishes into the dishwasher.

She turned around, smiling sweetly. "Then work on remembering on your own," she said.

"Gee, thanks," he grumbled. "No pressure or anything."

She disappeared down the tiny hallway that he figured lead to her bedroom, and returned with a bundle of blankets. "Here," she said, shoving them into his arms. "I don't know about you, but I've had a _very _long day. Go ahead and set up whenever you feel like going to sleep. See you in the morning."

She left him there, with the bundle of bedclothes in his arms, staring at the much-too-small couch in consternation. A few seconds later, he heard her bedroom door open and close.

He couldn't help his irritation – she'd kicked him out of her house for over an hour on the pretext of setting up a place for him to sleep. If she hadn't been doing that, what _had _she been doing? He quashed the feeling nearly as quickly as it had risen. She was being kind enough to let him stay, regardless of their past and her obvious distaste for his company, so what right did he have to question her? None at all.

He sighed, laying the sheet haphazardly over the couch, tossing down the worn pillow she'd provided. He kicked off his shoes and splayed out on the couch fully-clothed. She either hadn't thought to obtain some pajamas for him, or there were none available for him. It didn't matter. He yanked the heavy blanket up to his chin and closed his eye.

Somehow he'd thought that, with all he'd gone through that day, he'd have been sound asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Instead, he tossed and turned restlessly…and _dreamed_.


	2. Chapter 2

It was his last day in Bikanel. He'd been waiting for this moment for weeks – ever since he'd received that missive informing him of his acceptance into the Crimson Squad. And now it was finally happening. His bags were packed, his weapons cleaned and polished. All his loose ends had been wrapped up.

Well…almost all of them.

He managed not to wince as he caught sight of Rikku running towards him across the shallow, sandy dunes. She was out of breath, frantic to reach him before he departed.

She bent over at the waist as she reached him, bracing her hands on her knees, desperately dragging air into her starved lungs as she struggled to speak.

"Gippal…you…can't go!" She huffed. "You'll never…make it back!" A few more hard breaths and she forced herself upright, brushing her bangs away from her sweaty face. "You can't seriously be thinking of joining up with Yevon! Those bastards would love nothing more than to fill you with bullets the moment your back is turned!"

Irked at her obvious disapproval – the very reason he had never told her he was leaving – he tossed another of his bags to the ferryman.

"I'm going, Rikku." He crossed his arms, hoping she would read his forbidding body posture and realize he would not be moved.

"Please!" She laid her hands on his folded arms. "Please, Gippal, I have a really bad feeling about this! Let me come with you, at least!"

"Absolutely not. D'you think anyone else'll be bringing a girlfriend?"

"Gippal, come on…"

"I said no, Rikku. Cid'd never let you come, anyway."

"Then don't you go, either!" She flung her arms around his neck, holding him tightly. "Gippal, if you love me, you won't go!"

And he…said nothing.

Slowly she became aware of that fact, drawing back to study his expressionless face.

"Gippal…?" She swallowed hard, her face bleak. And he knew she was remembering every time she'd said she'd loved him, and every time he'd failed to return the sentiment.

"I _don't _love you," he said finally, dispassionately. "You're a cute kid. It was fun while it lasted. But let's face it, Rikku. It wasn't going to last forever. We both knew it."

Even as he said it, he knew it was a lie. Rikku _hadn't _known it. She loved wildly and recklessly – life was too short to second-guess everything. She'd thrown herself headlong, heart and soul, into their relationship. She'd held nothing back, and she'd always been genuine and adoring of him, proud of him and his meager accomplishments. She'd made him believe he could do anything. And in return, he was casting her aside for bigger and better things. He buried his guilt beneath his excitement to be leaving for the Crimson Squad.

She looked like she was shrinking in on herself with pain and humiliation. He regretted hurting her, but he'd never been in love with her, not really. He liked her well enough, but he, at least, had always known they'd someday part. It was best it happened now.

"Oh." Her trembling fingers covered her lips, her green eyes were wide with shock. "Oh, I…see." A hysterical sob was wrenched from her throat, but she managed to blink back the tears that swam in her eyes. "I guess…I guess this is goodbye, then." She reached out to touch him, thought better of it at the last second, and backed up a couple of steps. "Good luck." Her voice broke, and she turned and fled.

For a moment, Gippal felt horrible. It was painfully obvious he'd crushed her heart. He consoled himself with the fact that she was young; she'd recover.

And he had more important things to think about, now, like saving Spira from Sin. After all, he was leaving Bikanel to become a hero.

He'd thought of Rikku often in the weeks that followed. His friends back home – even Cid – wrote to him on occasion. Brother demanded to know what had happened between him and Rikku, as she apparently refused to talk of it or even to mention his name. His friends wondered if he was having grand adventures, if he had been wounded in some massive battle. If he was having fun, even.

Rikku never wrote. Not once. Not even to inquire after his health. It was like she'd forgotten he even existed. And he regretted his cruelty, because he'd come to see clearly that in his idealism, in his hunger to make a name for himself, he'd sacrificed something wonderful and perfect on the altar of Glory. Rikku. And he would never get her back.

And he was finding out that the Crimson Squad hadn't been nearly the heroic, valiant endeavor he'd expected. He'd chalked it up to youth and arrogance. Somehow he'd expected to run in, guns blazing, and Sin would fall. And all of Spira would rally around him, the vanquisher of the most feared being in existence. He'd thought that, with Sin's death, all the hatred of the Al Bhed would be forgotten. He'd hoped to be the savior not only of Spira, but of the Al Bhed.

Instead, he'd found the four remaining members of the Squad – himself included – forgotten by the people and hunted by the very organization that had drawn them together. And, in the aftermath of his rude awakening, he realized that the only person who'd ever believed in him had been that young girl whose dreams – and heart – he'd ruthlessly crushed to further his own gains.

It was only when he was lying face down on the green, green grass of the highroad, surrounded by a growing puddle of his own blood that he realized how much she meant to him, how much it hurt him that he had hurt her. The bullet in his back didn't ache as much as the pain in his heart. He knew he would live, even if he had been shot at close range by a so-called friend. How could he die when his heart beat outside his chest, held in her small hands? Even if she didn't know it, even if she didn't love him anymore, he couldn't let it rest. She deserved the chance to crush him like he'd crushed her. He'd callously tossed aside her love, grinding it into the sand of Bikanel beneath his heavy boots. She could do the same if she so chose…he only hoped she wouldn't.

It wasn't long until Rin came along, dragged him back to his shop, and nursed him back to health. Not two months thereafter, Rin sent him to Luca on an errand, and he found the entire city celebrating the newly-come Eternal Calm, brought about by the Lady Summoner Yuna and her party. There, on a dais in Luca Square, stood the party responsible for it all, and his mouth dropped open as he realized Rikku was among their number.

He had not been able to defeat Sin, but Rikku had. It was _Rikku _who was the heroine, the savior of the Al Bhed. Even as his heart lurched into his throat in fear and worry over what she must have gone through, he couldn't help being intensely proud. And he wanted to shout, _That's my girl!_

But she wasn't. Not anymore.

He didn't see her again until two years later. He knew why they were there, of course. Another ancient evil had resurfaced, and they, the once-over heroines, were gearing up for another go at saving the world. Though he was fraught with worry when she showed up, he tried to play it cool. There was no way he was telling her anything – if he had his way, she'd be well out of harm's way this time around. She'd been lucky thus far, but luck could only hold out so long.

She was…different. No longer the sweet, innocent young girl she'd been in Bikanel. Oh, she was still sweet – but in a completely different sense. The kind of _sweet _that made men turn and stare whenever she sauntered by. And, to his complete surprise, she greeted him politely – even warmly. With a sincere smile that made his knees weak just to see it, she'd completely shattered his composure, his cool confidence.

So he'd slung his arm over her shoulder, telling her friends how they'd made quite the couple once…and she'd shoved him away, snapping at him, _What are you saying?! _in Al Bhed.

And he knew…she hadn't told her friends about them. She hadn't wanted them to know she'd once been involved with him. It hurt – but then, he couldn't really blame her. Still, as they jogged back towards their airship, he caught her wrist to stop her.

"Rikku, wait, please."

She snatched her wrist away. "What is it, Gippal?" She sounded tense, out of patience.

"Come to dinner with me." _Damn. _It wasn't what he'd intended to say, it wasn't smooth or polished or in any way repentant for the way he'd treated her in the past, but he couldn't take the words back now.

"_What_?" She asked incredulously. "How _could_ you think I would…never mind. No." She kept walking.

"Just as friends," he clarified, hurrying after her. At this point, he'd take what he could get. She stopped again, fury in every line of her body.

"We are _not _friends," she said. "I _was _trying to forget that there was ever anything between us, but _you _can't seem to resist humiliating me all over again, can you? Even in front of my _friends_." She tossed her silky hair away from her face, her soft pink lips a thin line as she surveyed him coldly. "I honestly have no idea what I was thinking, coming here, what I thought it would prove," she said absently. "You haven't changed at all." She turned abruptly, walking away from him. And he didn't see the point in going after her. She'd made her decision. He looked down at his boots, almost expecting to see his heart flung at his feet. But then…she didn't even know she'd had it in the first place.

--

Gippal jerked awake, gasping heavily for breath as he shook off the remnants of the dream. It had seemed so real, the pain he'd felt so stark. His mind whirled, still muddled. He didn't know if they were just dreams or memories…but he knew a way to find out. He threw off the blankets and rose, stalking down the hall, removing his shirt as he walked. The bathroom was tiny, and he was a big man – he dwarfed the small room. The light flickered a little above his head, but he could see himself clearly in the mirror over the sink.

He'd been right; he _was _pretty good-looking, even with the eye patch. His one good eye was a brilliant green, his hair blond, and his features even. Stubble shadowed his jaw; he hadn't yet shaved today.

Even his chest was attractive; muscular and toned – but unmarred. A little disappointment filled him. Maybe it hadn't been real, after all. Sometimes dreams _were _just dreams, after all. He turned to head back to the couch, and couldn't resist one last peek at his reflection – was he really so vain? – and then he saw it. The smallish, roughly circular scar just below his right shoulder blade. The entry-wound from the bullet that his best friend had shot.

And just like that, he had the confirmation he'd needed. He was remembering – remembering things that made him cringe in shame, remembering things he'd have done anything to forget. There were still blank spots, still shadows that clung to his past, memories he still hadn't yet reclaimed. But at least now he knew he was beginning to remember, and held out the hope that eventually he would get it all back. And he prayed that the rest of it would be more flattering, because so far he didn't particularly _like _the man he'd been. That he _was_.

No, damnit! He didn't _have _to be the same person that he had been before the accident. He could be Gippal AA – Gippal After Accident. He could be different, he could change. He could become a man that Rikku would respect – a man that Rikku could _love_.

He pounded his fist on the doorframe, unsatisfied with the dull thud it made. It did nothing to relieve his frustration, to ease the furious, angry beat of his heart. He struggled for more memories, anything else that might grant him a little more insight into his life Before, but ended up only acquiring a vicious migraine.

"Hey."

He jerked, startled, and his hand reflexively leapt for where his holster usually rested at his hip. It was only Rikku – he prayed she hadn't noticed the telling gesture. If she suspected he was regaining his memories, she would be well within her rights to tell him to take a hike. And he didn't want to leave. Not yet. Not now. If he could only be in her life in the capacity of a charity case – and not even a particularly well-liked one – well, so be it.

She was regarding him curiously, her arms folded across her chest, right hip resting against the door frame. The strap of her pink camisole had slipped off one shoulder, and her hair was mussed. It irked him that she had a wicked case of bed head, and she _still _couldn't have been more attractive to him.

"Hey," he said slowly. "I couldn't sleep. I came in to take a look at myself." He tried for a woebegone expression, hoping she'd take pity on him. "I realized I didn't even remember what I looked like. I thought maybe it might help me remember something."

Her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, and he thought for a moment she'd call him on his bullshit. But she only sighed, her lips twisting into a wry smile. She shook her head, laughing a little, sending soft blonde strands flying. She was standing close enough that a few of them brushed his cheek, catching momentarily on the stubble he'd yet to remove.

"Ah, Gippal," she sighed, amused. "You always _were _so vain. I swear, you probably have more hair-care products than _I_ do. And let me assure you, I have an impressive amount."

_Vanity_, he noted. He figured it was the first in a long list of faults he'd need to fix.

She clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't stay up all night admiring yourself," she cautioned. "Tomorrow you'll be making yourself useful. Get some rest. You'll need it."

She turned, no doubt to head back to her bedroom. He watched her go, admiring the way her cotton-candy pink pajama shorts clung to the curves of her rear. Her hair swished softly, just barely brushing the small of her back, as her bare feet carried her down the hall. She looked beautiful – feminine, dainty, and perfect. Like she was waiting for a big, strong man to come to rescue her and carry her away with him.

"And stop staring at my ass!" she snapped, flipping him off just before she shut the door to her bedroom.

He had no idea how she'd known. She'd never even turned around.


	3. Chapter 3

Rikku hadn't been lying when she'd said he'd have a busy day. She'd all but pushed him off the couch at the ass-crack of dawn, shoving aside his rumpled blankets to perch daintily on a cushion, munching happily on her breakfast of cold cereal as she clicked a button on a remote, sending the small spherevision flaring to life. He'd mentioned he was hungry, and she'd tipped back her golden head, laughing so hard she nearly choked on her cereal, and directed him to the kitchen.

Obviously, she had no intention of coddling him while he was in residence, regardless of what injuries he'd sustained.

They'd finished their breakfast in relative silence, dumping the bowls into the sink. Then, as she busied herself with shoving her lovingly-sharpened daggers into the twin sheaths at her hips, she'd instructed him to present himself at the workshop for duty.

"Duty? What duty?" he'd asked.

She'd rolled her eyes. "You're a mechanic. You build things. So, go build something. I've got my own work to be doing; I can't babysit you all day."

Panic had welled up. "I can't work. I have a head wound!"

"Don't be a baby. You've still got both arms and legs. You're in relative good health. This isn't a resort, and you aren't on vacation. In Bikanel, everyone works. No one's exempt; not even me. So you'll pull your own weight while you're here, got it?" This she'd said while pointing one of those wicked-looking daggers at him, and, while he was fairly certain she wouldn't actually kill him, he wasn't altogether convinced she wouldn't take a slice out of him just for shits and giggles.

So off he'd gone to the workshop, fuming all the while that he'd allowed her to bully him. But once he'd gotten there, he was somewhat bemused to discover that the atmosphere of the crowded, bustling room was so familiar, so reminiscent of something that hovered just out of reach on the still somewhat murky edges of his memory.

The workers there greeted him warmly, and, despite the fact that he remembered neither their faces nor their names, treated him like family.

"Hey, Gippal! Heard you took a knock to the head." One man clapped him on the back, laughing jovially. "You cocky son of a bitch, you've had it coming for years! I heard tell you don't remember so much?"

Gippal was not offended; there was something good-natured and kind about the man, despite his brash manner. "Yeah, something like that. It's like, there are things I know, but memories? A total blank. I didn't even know my own name."

"Ah, well, no worries. We won't work you too hard. Here, Ayora cleaned off your work bench. Go ahead and set up shop; we'll stay out of your hair. Yell if you need anything." The man hefted a big box of parts to the table, where Gippal's unfinished machine still sat, waiting for him to finish it.

Even as he looked at it, he could feel his hands aching to complete it, feel the raw potential in the hunk of junk he'd been putting together. Something that might have been excitement washed over him – should he be excited about it? Was that why Rikku had insisted that he go to the workshop? Had she known how much he'd enjoyed his work? Had she hoped he would recover some of his memories while doing the job that he loved?

Damn. He still didn't know enough, remember enough, to even begin to guess at her motivations. Frustrated over his inability to remember everything, he dumped the box out onto the table, grabbed an armful of tools, and set to work, making a mental list of all the things he currently knew and did not yet remember. The day was warm already; he jerked his shirt over his head and flung it aside. He tightened some bolts with a wrench, relishing the comfortable feel of the tool in his hand.

Rikku. Oh, yeah. He remembered her. He remembered her smile. He remembered the feel of her arms wrapped around his neck, her soft, warm lips on his. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck. He remembered her sneaking into his bedroom in Home. Old Home. He remembered torrid make-out sessions in his bed, and in hers. He remembered making love to her on the banks of the oasis; their own secluded hideaway. He shuddered, covering his mouth with one hand to stifle the groan that rose in his throat. Another betrayal she'd suffered at his hands. He'd taken her virginity and left her not two months later. Like the dickhead he'd not wanted to acknowledge that he had been, he'd screwed her and abandoned her.

No fucking wonder she hated his guts.

Viciously, he slammed his fist on the table, managing to cut his wrist on a bent, protruding scrap of metal.

"Ouch! Damn." He sucked the injured area, the coppery taste of blood filling his mouth. And suddenly he wasn't thinking of Rikku anymore.

_The scent of blasting powder was overwhelming. It burned his nostrils, stung his eyes. The air was thick with black, billowing smoke. He didn't know where he was or what exactly had happened. One minute, he'd been in a refugee cave with his mother, and the next, a thunderous roar had split the tense silence, and the walls of the cave shook, showering a stinging hail of rocks and dirt down onto the occupants. _

_Somehow, the blast had thrown him back, away from the safety of his mother's arms. He couldn't see through the smoke. His ears hadn't quit ringing. He shouted for his mother, but he couldn't hear his own voice. Hacking and coughing, struggling to expel the smoke from his tortured lungs, he stumbled blindly. His head felt fuzzy. His knees shook. Finally they gave out all together, and he tumbled to the ground, whimpering in pain as a jagged rock struck his head just below his eyebrow. Pain exploded in his head, but it was all he could do to curl into a ball and hope his mother would find him._

_What seemed an eternity later, he dimly felt a pair of hands hitch up under his arms, lifting him into the air. Consciousness slipped back as the smoke receded and he could finally drag in a full breath of fresh, clean air. Someone set him down on something soft – he was surrounded by warm bodies. He still couldn't open his eyes, but he could hear people talking._

"_Poor kid. He's gonna lose that eye."_

"_Damn Yevonite bastards. Ain't they got anythin' better to do than torture a bunch of women and kids?"_

"_Probably not. Shame about his mom, too. What'd she call him?"_

"_Gippal, I heard. Ah, well, Cid'll take him in. He's a sucker for kids, 'specially since his wife died. What's one more orphan, anyway?"_

_Tears slid out unchecked from beneath his closed lids, no matter that they stung. Orphan. He knew the word. It meant his mother was dead, and he was alone. It meant he'd never see her again. _

"Hey, Gippal…you okay?"

The hesitant voice jerked him out of the memory. Gippal tamped down the flash of annoyance he felt. It wasn't her fault his brain had picked the workshop as a prime home-movie theatre venue.

"Yeah," he said finally, turning towards the girl who'd asked. "Why?"

"Uh," she cleared her throat. "You got a little something…" she pantomimed wiping her cheeks. "There."

Gippal reached up, swiping his fist across his cheek. It came away wet. He stared at it in horror for a moment. His manliness (at this point, he was pretty sure he'd been one of those macho-type guys) was indignant at being caught crying in a public place. If he had to do it, it definitely ought to be saved for somewhere no one else could see, and where he could deny it if anyone should happen to ask.

"It's sweat." He fixed her with a stare. "It's hot in here."

"Uh, sure, okay. You need anything? Maybe you oughta take the rest of the day off."

He resisted the urge to take her up on it – it had, after all, been his original intention, but now it was a matter of honor that he stay just as long as the other guys. Since he still wasn't sure exactly what he'd been like before the accident, now he had something to prove to them, just in case he wasn't universally liked and respected. Hell, Rikku didn't much like him. He was willing to bet she could persuade an awful lot of people to dislike him as well, if she hadn't already.

On second thought, that would be too underhanded for Rikku. While she was not above a bit of petty thievery and she was definitely too outspoken for her own good, she wouldn't stoop to such low measures just to make sure she got her way.

"I'm fine. Hey, can you find me a gear about this big?" He held his hands a little ways apart. "And no wider than this." He separated his thumb and forefinger incrementally.

She arched an eyebrow. "You know, we do have a couple of tape measurers. Perhaps you'd like to give more precise measurements."

"What for? I already know how big they should be." He gestured again. "_This_ big and _this_ wide."

She threw up her hands in disgust and stalked away, muttering under her breath. But she returned a few minutes later with a small assortment of gears that fit his general requirements.

"Thanks." He sorted through them, fitting one after another in the open spot until he was satisfied he'd found the best fit. The woman who'd brought them was looking curiously over his shoulder, only edging a bit out of the way when she'd realized she was blocking the light. With a murmured apology, she turned to go.

"No, stay, if you have the time," he said, gesturing to the empty spot at the work bench beside him. His attention was mostly on the machine in front of him, but he figured it might be good to have some company, maybe get a few questions answered. She sat, avidly watching him work.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Ayora," she replied. "It's true, then? You got your memories knocked clean out of your fool head?" Her voice had a chiding tone, like a sister would chastise a younger brother.

He repressed a smile; none of these people could ever be accused of holding back their true thoughts. "Yeah, it's true. I guess we knew each other?"

"Well enough, I expect. We grew up with each other." She drummed her fingers on the table before her. "Not exactly surprised, though. You were sort of a cautionary tale growing up. Most folks'd get banged up and sent to the infirmary every now and again, sure, but for you, gettin' sent up to Doc was your average Tuesday."

Pleased with her chattiness, considering everyone else was being relatively tight-lipped about his past, he laughed a bit. He'd regained some major memories, but small ones – like frequent infirmary visits – still eluded him.

"That would explain the complete lack of sympathy," he said.

She scoffed. "You did it to yourself, after all. Shoulda known better, but it's just like you to go about half-cocked. You always did have more guts than brains."

He didn't really need her to say that; he'd remembered enough about himself to know that much already.

"So, tell me about Rikku," he said.

"Rikku?" Her eyes narrowed briefly. "Why'd you wanna know about her?"

He tried for an innocent expression. "She's been generous enough to put me up; I'm curious. That's all."

She pursed her lips together, studying him intently. "Why don't you ask her?"

"When?" He gestured to the workshop. "Not like she's here very often. And it'd be rude to interrogate her in her own home, wouldn't it?"

"I wouldn't worry about that as much as her bashing you upside the head again for your efforts," Ayora retorted.

Gippal snickered – because he could see it in his mind. Rikku was nothing if not fierce when riled.

"So, tell me," he said. "Since she's clearly not gonna."

"Not much to tell. She's Cid's daughter – that's our leader, Cid – and she'll likely take over someday. Most people think Brother'll be the next leader, but that idiot couldn't find his way out of a wet paper bag, much less lead the Al Bhed." Ayora shrugged, as if she couldn't be bothered to care _who_ lead the Al Bhed.

"And Rikku could?" He inflected just enough doubt in his tone to suggest that he really _hadn't_ remembered how capable she was – for anything.

"Sure, she could. Depends on whether or not she wants to, though. Still a little flighty, that girl. Not that she hasn't earned a couple of years to do whatever she wants, what with all she's already done for us." She stood, her attention momentarily grabbed by two of the workers calling out goodbyes as they left for lunch, then busied herself with beginning to clear away the vacated table spaces. Gippal stood, too – if everyone else was leaving for lunch, he might as well, too.

"What's she done, then?" He asked, since her previous response had invited another question.

She tsked, shaking her head. "You did knock yourself a good one, didn't you? She only saved all of Spira a couple of times. Maybe she's crazier than you ever were, I don't know. But I'll be damned if she didn't come back unscathed and saving us all from Sin _and _Yevon. And for that, there's not a one of us that wouldn't die for that girl."

"You're friends, then."

Her lips quirked into a small smile. "I grew up with her, too, you know."

Gippal wiped futilely at his hands with a rag, but the rag itself was dirty, so he really only succeeded in relocating the grime. Annoyed, he stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels, striving for an innocently curious expression. "So…she single?"

Ayora's smile faded a bit, and she tipped her head to the side as if she couldn't decide what to make of him. "Yeah. But she's not for you."

"Why not? Last I checked, I wasn't hard on the eyes, even if I'm missing one of 'em, myself."

"You had a falling out a couple of years back." That wary look was back, as if she were considering how much to tell him. Finally, her lips compressed into a thin line, settling on the brutal, honest truth. "She wouldn't have you on a silver platter with an apple in your mouth."

"Sounds like a challenge, then." He tossed her a cocky grin. "I always did like a challenge. Or, at least, I'm pretty sure I did."

Ayora managed a weak facsimile of a smile. "It's your funeral…and I'm not entirely sure that's not just an expression. She really might kill you this time."

"This time?" His eyebrows rose comically high; he hoped he looked properly surprised. "She ever expressed any homicidal intent towards me before?"

"She holds her cards close to her chest, that one. But last I heard of you and her meeting up, she went about in a hell of a temper for well over a week. Not that she's the sort to take out her feelings on anyone else, but let's just say all of us breathed a sigh of relief when she hightailed it out of here and spent a month incommunicado," she said, brushing back her bangs from her face. "Let's get you some lunch; it's miserable working in this heat. Might as well take a break for the hottest part of the day. Even if Rikku doesn't want anything to do with you, she won't take kindly to me letting you jeopardize your recovery."

She reached into a bucket, pulling out a damp cloth to scrub at her face and the back of her neck, effectively wiping away the dust, grime, and sweat.

"That's almost sweet," he mused. "Whatever convoluted history we have, she still cares."

Ayora snorted. "She cares about your recovery all right," she said, tossing a towel at him. It hit him in the chest with a wet _plop_. "She wants you better so you'll get the hell out of here and leave her in peace."

Rikku viciously jabbed her fork into the yellowish-brownish concoction on the tray in front of her. It jiggled, as though at any moment it might actually attempt to climb right off her plate and make its way to freedom. If she had to be honest, the sub-par (and that put it rather mildly) food at the cafeteria was the primary reason she'd invested a little of her money into her own place. At least there she'd know for sure that whatever she cooked would actually be food, and definitely dead before it ended up on her plate.

Truth to tell, she wasn't certain exactly what had made her come to the cafeteria instead of going home to grab a quick lunch. It certainly didn't have anything to do with the little fact that Gippal would most likely be eating here. That would be ridiculous. She gave the blob of 'food' another jab; it responded with another ominous jiggle. Her stomach turned over. She made a mental note to never again put anything in her mouth whose species or food group she couldn't immediately identify.

The hair on the back of her neck prickled just a second before she saw him. It irked her; no matter that it had been years since they'd been a couple, she had never lost that incredible awareness of him. When he entered a room, she knew it.

A couple of workers called a greeting, and he stopped to exchange pleasantries for a few moments before shuffling into the line to get something to eat. She hunched down a little, well aware that she'd missed her chance to escape. If she left now, she'd be branded a coward. And it would be true. But she knew that if she stood up and left, he'd see her. And maybe, what with his attention otherwise engaged, she could leave as soon as he'd chosen a table – after all, he'd likely have company, and he'd be too busy talking to take any notice of her.

The tinny sound of metal hitting metal jarred her out of her thoughts.

"This seat taken?"

Of _course_. He _would_ come sit with her.

"Nah," she said, carelessly gesturing with the fork to the bench on the opposite side of her table. "I was just about to leave anyway."

He eyed her tray doubtfully. "But you haven't even touched your…food?" He examined his own tray, which also contained a large helping of the food of dubious origin. "That _is_ food, right?" He poked at it with his fork, watching it intently as though waiting for it to make a sudden move.

"I think so. I'm not really sure; I can't work up the courage to taste it." She scowled down at her plate, irritated to find herself more or less trapped into conversing with him. "Like I said, I was just leaving."

"Stay, please. It'd be nice to have some company," he said pleasantly.

"Why, so you can grill me for information?" She made a moue of distaste. Ayora had stopped by a few minutes before and dished on his little interrogation. She didn't think Ayora would've spilled any secrets, but the sheer fact that he'd tried for them had irritated Rikku more than she really cared to admit.

"Nah. Besides, I already got the information I wanted." He took a hesitant bite of the slop on his plate, and Rikku watched, momentarily distracted from the conversation, as he shuddered and reluctantly swallowed. He dropped his fork onto his plate and shoved it away.

Torn between horror that he'd actually taken a bite and awe that he'd managed to keep it down, Rikku took refuge in her former irritation. "What information was that?"

He took a deep, cleansing drink of water before responding. "That you're single." This was, of course, followed by a rakish grin.

She snorted. "Yeah, and you haven't got a chance in hell, so don't even consider it."

"We dated before. And you're pretty good in the sack."

Her mouth dropped open. "You…you…did you _remember_…?"

"No." Another wicked grin. "But I'd have had to be a complete idiot not to nail you if I had the chance. And I'm not an idiot. Or at least, not a _complete_ idiot. The full extent of my idiocy has yet to be determined." He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. He'd actually managed to get one over on her, and it was profoundly satisfying…as was the scarlet flush that chased across her cheeks.

Those vivid green eyes promised retribution. "Yeah, well, what can I say? I was young and stupid. And you were an asshole." She stood up, picking up her as-yet-untouched tray, gliding around the table towards him. He was momentarily transfixed by the perfect view of her smooth, golden legs.

The bright, citrusy scent of her hair teased his nose as she bent toward him to whisper in his ear. "And you know what, Gippal? You were good, but you weren't _that_ good."

She tipped the tray, and the whole mess of congealed glop slid right off into his lap. He cringed at the wet squish it made as it landed, quickly soaking through his pants.

"_Oops_. You might want to clean that up." She clapped him on the shoulder and sauntered away.

Gippal grabbed a napkin, wiping futilely at his clothes.

_Point to Rikku._


End file.
